


Procedures

by Footloose



Series: Loaded March EXTRAS [17]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst part about their boys being at war is when their boys were at war and out of touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Procedures

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the Prompt Request #2 Round for Loaded March Extras:
> 
> Prompted by canadiangoddess (LJ)  
>  _I'd love to see something with Gwen and Morgana dealing with being Army wives (badass Army wives) because married or not, Morgana IS an Army wife and that's not an easy thing. How do they cope? Outside of what the men might know about (spa days, retail therapy)...I mean, do they ever just get drunk and discuss their fears? I DON'T KNOW I JUST WANT BADASS LADIES BEING BADASS TOGETHER_
> 
> * * *

"I think I've had too much wine," Gwen said. She rubbed the side of her face and ran her hand through the tangled curls in her hair.

The coffee table was littered with nail polish, twisted-up pieces of facial tissue, nail files and nail polish remover. There were three bottles of wine that Morgana had brought over -- two of them empty -- and a large, empty box of what used to be thin crust pizza from the Italian restaurant a few blocks over.

"No such thing," Morgana answered. She found a knife under the pizza box, sliced through the foil with a grace that made Lucan look fumble-fingered when he attempted the same, and searched for the corkscrew. "If anything, I don't think you've had enough."

It wasn't the first time that Gwen and Morgana got together like this: pizza and wine and home spas, with pedicures and leg waxing and hair styling, though they'd learned to never, _ever_ do the last two when stumbling drunk. The tradition had started the very first night that Excalibur went out on a mission that their men couldn't talk about, and the radio silence that had ensued had been maddening.

When Lance first joined up, Gwen would spend time with her parents and her brother to distract herself. It didn't work well -- how could it? Her father would get a faraway look in his eyes and sometimes would start talking about his own missions in the army, and she couldn't stand to listen to the same stories she'd heard when she was a child. Her mother would start _nesting_ , cleaning the house from top to bottom the way she always did when she fretted, and Gwen was left with nothing to do but to sit next to Elyan on the couch and watch him play point-and-shoot video games that left her even more traumatized.

Gwen didn't know what Morgana had done in the early days, but Gwen gathered that it had something to do with wine, because the wine was a non-negotiable factor of their get-togethers.

This was their coping process. Everyone had their own way of dealing with stress, but there was a special sort of strain for those who were left behind, waiting and wondering if their loved ones were safe, if they were alive. Gwen spent the days and weeks and -- in one particularly bad case -- months performing tasks with mindless automation, breathing short, shallow breaths because the pressure on her chest was impossible to bear. She wouldn't stray far from her phone, she would jump at every sound, and every visitor was treated with trepidation, lest they come bearing bad news.

Being with Morgana made it easier. Morgana understood what no one else did, not even Gwen's mother, who had gone through the same thing when her husband was in active duty. Morgana knew how stupidly brave, how ridiculously selfless, how unthinkingly courageous the men of Excalibur could be. They knew the risks their boys would take, what they would do to complete their missions, what they would do to save each other.

Lance and Leon were at the forefront of their worries, but Morgana and Gwen weren't only worried about them. They worried about _everyone_.

Arthur spent more time fretting over his men and sorting over battle plans than he did making sure _he_ got enough sleep when he needed it. Gwaine got twitchy in crowded cities and it always seemed that he might snap if someone wasn't there to keep an eye on him. Perceval took on more and more responsibilities every mission and did a spectacular job of it -- but he also did an amazing job of hiding how near he was to snapping.

If Geraint and Galahad didn't have each other, they probably would have cracked up a long time ago. As it was, they were like brothers -- _were_ brothers if their so-called childhood blood-brothers promise was legally and biologically binding -- and that was probably what saved them.

Bedivere got the far-away look in his eyes, sometimes, before burrowing it in a book. Whenever Bohrs was over to theirs, Morgana sent him to the cramped backyard and had him fix the begonias. Gareth became clumsier after a bad mission and Lamorak followed him around, trying to make sure Gareth didn't hurt himself.

Kay became distant, disappearing for days and weeks at a time. Pellinor went on baking sprees -- and promptly destroyed kitchen after kitchen, because no one had the heart to tell him that he couldn't cook worth shite.

His brownies were getting better, though.

Sometimes, Gwen wondered if they might lose Lucan. Nothing Gwen or Morgana ever did would lure Lucan out of the shadows. He seemed perpetually terrified that something might happen to the team, even though he was careful not to let it show.

It would help if the army got off its arse and assigned a halfway competent communications officer to Excalibur, already. The team was unhinged because they couldn't trust Roman to do his goddamned job. Having met him briefly, Gwen understood Lance's barely-suppressed urge to slam Roman head-first into a concrete wall.

The television was playing. Gwen had no idea what was on. Traditionally, they put in a movie -- whatever mindless rubbish that didn't require conscious thought to follow -- but it looked like they'd both forgotten to put the disc in the player, because the news flashed across the screen.

_Breaking news_

A tickertape of latest headlines scrolled across the bottom, and a buxom blonde with a modest white shirt buttoned up to the throat gave the camera her best serious expression, pink lips pursed firmly to keep from accidentally curling into a straight line.

"The three hundred and forty-seven passengers on a Boeing 747 bound for Germany have been trapped on an Afghanistan airfield since yesterday morning. Tense negotiations between the hijackers and local officials broke down and several crew members were thrown from the airlock in response to the government's refusals to meet their demands.

"At last report, the insurgents are demanding the release of several rebel leaders and the immediate removal of foreign troops from the country." The image in the upper right corner next to the anchorperson changed from a photograph of the airplane trapped on the airfield in broad daylight to show more current events through the live feed. The airfield was dark, but the airplane was lit up like a Christmas tree with spotlights bright enough to turn the night into day. An instant later, the images filled the screen. "Our very own Bob Duffy is on the scene right now. Bob, have there been any new developments?"

Morgana rolled her eyes. "No, the network decided to interrupt their programming to show us that there has been absolutely no change at all."

Gwen grinned.

"Katherine, yes, as you can see, the mood is understandably tense, but my sources have informed that the rebels have stepped up their demands. We have learned that unless certain rebel leaders are released, regardless of the government holding them, the rebels will be shooting one passenger in the head for every hour that they haven't received a response."

"Several of the crew have already been killed, correct?"

"That's right, Katherine. At great risk to their lives, the local officials have recovered the bodies."

"I've been informed that there have been a few attempts to board the plane and neutralize the hijackers," Katherine said.

"There has been some discussion to board the plane, yes. Although many countries have armed or police forces trained to board an airplane of this configuration in a hostage situation without fatalities, there are none available in this country. In order to mount an attack on the hijackers, the government would have to invite such a team, and given the current tensions, it's unlikely to happen very quickly, and that's only if some sort of accord can be made. The closest team is four hours away, and this doesn't include the time it would take to assemble equipment, run through projected scenarios, coordinate tactics --"

Morgana threw a bottle cork at the plasmascreen. "Oh, _my God_. Just give the hijackers all the information they need, why don't you, you bloody _idiots_?"

"Why doesn't the government just shut them down?" Gwen blurted out. "I mean, why isn't there a media blackout? Don't they know how much harder they're making it for the team that's going to be assaulting the plane?"

"Makes you wonder whose side they're on, sometimes. Too bloody keen to grab the spotlight and the headline," Morgana said.

"They're not all bad," Gwen said.

Morgana's response was muffled behind her wineglass; she took a sip before lowering it and pointing a finger at the screen. "Anyway, that's what they're going to have to do. The team that goes in, I mean. They're going to have to black it out. There's too many lights on the plane. They'd be spotted going in a mile away."

"They should target the lights and the generator they're using to power the plane," Gwen said, reaching for a new wine bottle. She popped it open in one smooth movement and refilled both of their glasses. "I still can't believe that they caved in and _gave_ them power for the plane in the first place."

"Almost four hundred people on board, forty degree weather -- I suppose no one wanted the weather to get the first shot at the passengers," Morgana said.

"That's morbid."

"But true," Morgana said. Her eyes narrowed and she wagged a finger at the telly. "If the lights go out in the plane, what's to stop the hijackers from blindly shooting at everyone on board?"

"Including each other?" Gwen glanced at Morgana. "Not much, I suppose. And at this point, the passengers have got to be getting restless. They might try something if they think they have a chance. I'm really not sure that turning the lights out is the best idea."

"We should invent something to completely neutralize everyone on board, passengers included, before anyone gets on the plane," Morgana said thoughtfully.

"We might --" Gwen chewed her lower lip and fell silent.

Morgana poked her sharp fingernail in Gwen's biceps. She raised a perfectly groomed brow. "Don't tell me. It's above my clearance? I didn't think _anything_ was above my clearance. Wait. _Absolutely nothing_ is above my clearance."

Gwen grimaced. "Well, it's not exactly a clearance thing. It's kind of a sensitive issue? Also, a public relations disaster for us if it gets out. You've got to know that. Nobody's going to be happy if they hear that the government contracted a weapons manufacturer for a way to bring down terrorists in remote location when they're surrounded by civilians --"

"Oh, they're a bunch of pillocks," Morgana huffed. "Didn't you tell them that there are non-lethal ways --"

" _I_ didn't," Gwen said. "I locked myself in the lab. I was done with them. It's _politics_. I hate politics. I'm not good with people, not like you are, Morgana."

"I'm not that good," Morgana muttered, taking a sip of her wine.

" _Right_ ," Gwen said, rolling her eyes.

Neither of them said anything while the newscaster continued to talk about the hostage situation.

"Where are you on that project, anyway?" Morgana asked.

"I'm not," Gwen said. "It's on the bottom of my list. I didn't get the priority approval, so..."

She shrugged. Technically, it was true. She'd been handed the paperwork, but hadn't looked at it, and promptly filed it at the bottom of her cabinet.

"Good girl," Morgana said.

"You know, I was working on a crowd-control device not that long ago," Gwen said. "Based on sound. It's meant to destabilize the eardrum, make everyone either faint or go to their knees. No lasting damage, but it got shelved because of lack of interest."

Morgana's brow rose. "Lack of interest? From whom?"

Gwen waved a helpless hand in the air. "Ev--"

What she'd been about to say stopped in mid-syllable when she caught a change on the news. The spotlights were out, the lights on the tarmac were dark, and the only thing visible -- and barely -- was a faint glow from the cockpit of the airplane. 

"Bob, there seems to be some sort of activity going on right now," the anchorperson said.

"You're right, Katherine. All the lights were just shut off. The ground crew was cleared off almost immediately beforehand and the local law enforcement are a bit confused right now. No one's sure what's going on --"

There was a lot of shouting in the background. The camera work suddenly jerked left into the darkness and Gwen wasn't sure what they were supposed to be looking at. There were glimpses of backlit structures, a smear of some sort of afterglow, and a jiggly zoom of the airplane again. One of the passenger windows was flashing up and down in Morse code.

 _S.O.S.  
_ _  
_ _S.O.S.  
_ _  
_ _S.O.S._  
  
"We know you're in trouble, you _idiot_ ," Morgana shouted at the screen, translating the Morse code as quickly as Gwen did, if not faster. "Tell us something we don't already know!"

The airplane window was suddenly stuck at half-mast, the light coming out of it a dull yellow glow.

"There seems to be some sort of movement on the tarmac, Katherine," Bob was saying. "Let me see if I can get a few lights on --"

"What is he _doing_? Someone _shoot_ him." Morgana threw a few more corks at the screen. Gwen stopped her before she broke the telly. It wasn't that she couldn't afford another one if Morgana broke it or that Morgana wouldn't replace it if she did, but more that Gwen hated having to hook up the cable box with the stereo and the Playstation. All the cables were just ridiculous. She had half a mind to design a wireless system --

A barrage of noise burst through the speakers. Gwen's heart stopped and she stared at the screen. For a couple of seconds, there was nothing but the backlit image of the plane itself.

Then, everything went black.

"Gwen! Gwen! Let me go! You're --" 

Gwen looked down to see that her fingers were digging half-moons into Morgana's arm. She let go with difficulty.

"Sorry," she said.

"I'm so glad you trim your nails," Morgana said.

"That's not what you said when you were trying to give me a French manicure," Gwen said.

"I take it back," Morgana said, and they both fell silent again, staring at the black screen.

Abruptly, the image went back to a woman behind an anchor's desk, looking pale and a little ill. "Bob? Bob? Are you there?"

There was no answer.

The woman forced a nervous smile. She steeled herself by taking a deep breath and shuffling papers that were probably only a prop. Gwen spotted the exact moment when the woman must have snapped out of it and imagined that the producer had been frantically tapping at the teleprompter, trying to get her attention.

"Ah, yes. Excuse me. Our apologies to our audience. It appears that we are experiencing some technical difficulties. Our crew is diligently attempting to restore our feed from Afghanistan --"

"This," Morgana said, pointing at the screen. "That's what needs to happen. A complete blackout, no one knowing any better, letting our boys do the job. There should be protocols in place for this."

"Absolutely. Starting with calling in the best equipped team to handle the situation, regardless of nationality. The people on that plane are international citizens," Gwen said.

Morgana was narrow-eyed and thoughtful for a moment. Abruptly, she got up and left the room, coming back with a sheet of paper. She wrote down two sentences. The first was _complete media blackout_ , while the second was _immediate team contact_.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Morgana asked, rolling her eyes. "I'm writing up a protocol for this situation. And you're going to help me."

Gwen started to tell Morgana that there were probably many more qualified people than them who had already established that exact same sort of thing and had it approved as a standard operating procedure at the government level, if not the military level, but she decided that going along with Morgana was probably the easier tactic. For one thing, it would distract both of them from the sudden lack of news. For another...

For another, Gwen had a feeling that she would need to keep Morgana from phoning certain important government and military officials in the middle of the night and demand that they implement their plan.

It was several hours, many more bottles of wine, a late-night take-away pizza box later before they came up for air with a plan scribbled in Morgana's spider-scrawl on eighteen pieces of paper when the _Breaking News_ music burbled through the speakers and the newscaster -- this time an older, distinguished gentleman with slicked-back steel-grey hair, his tie done in a proper Oxford knot. Unlike the other anchorperson, Katherine, the man didn't bother with the paper props and started talking immediately.

"Earlier this evening, there was a terrorist attack on a Boeing 747 destined for Germany. The crew was shot and killed as well as several passengers whose identities have not been disclosed. The flight was grounded and held hostage by local rebels who have been neutralized by a highly trained special forces team. At latest report, all passengers have disembarked and are being examined by medical teams. The surviving terrorists have been apprehended and turned over to the local authorities. Our war correspondent is on site to give us an overview of the last few hours. Bob, what can you tell us?"

"Good to hear you, Evan," Bob said, his tone edging on the sarcastic. "Our transmission was inexplicably shut off and despite our best attempts, we have only been able to restore our systems as of a few minutes ago --"

Neither Morgana nor Gwen heard what he had to say when their phones went off almost simultaneously. Morgana snatched hers an instant before Gwen and squeaked, "Leon!" before disappearing into the kitchen.

"Lance," Gwen said when she answered the phone, not bothering to check the call display. It wouldn't tell her much more than _Unknown caller_ , anyway. The military guarded their locations zealously. "Oh, my God. Lance. We just watched this thing on the telly --"

"It's okay, we're all right --"

"You were there?"

"Erm," Lance said, and for a moment, Gwen swore that he sounded _guilty_. "We're all right?"

"You damn well had better be," Gwen said, hearing her own words echoed almost simultaneously from the kitchen.

Morgana stuck her head out, made eye contact, and they both laughed.

"You damn well had better be," Gwen said again, once she'd sobered up. She allowed herself a moment to feel absolutely, completely _relieved_ to hear that everyone was all right, and forged on with, "Because we're going to need your help. We came up with a new protocol for hostage situations, and we're going to want you to pitch it to the Brass. But first, you're going to tell us how you got the news feed shut off, because we haven't been able to figure out how to do that --"

"Erm," Lance said again, and he sheepishly said, "We have a new communications officer. He took care of that. He's absolutely aces, that one, and if Arthur ever gets his head out of his arse, he'll see that. But anyway, Merlin took care of the media."

"Put him on the line. I want to know how he did that. Because it was _brilliant_ , and it has to go into the procedures we're writing," Morgana said, coming into the living room. She dropped onto the sofa and picked up a pen. Almost right away, her tone softened. "Of course I want to talk to you. No, it doesn't have to be done right now. Yes, I was worried about you. you know I was. Oh, fine."

She sighed and dropped the pen. It clattered loudly on the table.

"Yes, I suppose it can wait. Yes, it can. I'm sure. Well, I'm not sure. I might put you on hold and order another pizza -- My God are you mad? I was worried sick. Are you sure you're all right?"

Gwen reached over and squeezed Morgana's hand. After taking a deep breath, she said the exact same thing to Lance.


End file.
